


we heard your voice (so sing for me)

by Elisye



Series: wake up, birthday girl (it's the end of an era) [3]
Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, content warnings at the top of the fic bc idk what im doing with this fic, no betas or spellcheck we publish this like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-31 00:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: The Reaper's Game is a second chance at everything - but like life, its players have only one try, and the results are permanent.(She might have never gotten her chance, but that doesn't mean others can't have theirs.)





	we heard your voice (so sing for me)

**Author's Note:**

> possible tw for implied to outright mentions of neglect / abuse / suicide / unhealthy relationships / negative thoughts / and a lot of references to death because it's hecking twewy. 
> 
> please lemme know if i missed anything that ought to be tagged here.

 

 

 

 

You raise an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Fuuya rubs at his nose with the back of his hand, eyes narrowed at a particular couple - an older man and much younger woman - walking down the street, their arms closely linked. "Yeah. I'm sure."

You follow his line of sight, trying not to frown or fidget. Just looking at the couple, it's clear that the woman knows nothing and is happily being strung along, while the man is plenty pleased with the way things are right now. You hold back a sigh, trying not to feel the sudden weariness of acknowledging the world, colorful and ugly as it is.

"Just checking," you hum, eventually. "You can't change your mind afterwards. It's either this or that."

"I'll take this then." The young man smiles. It's sharp and wry. "If my old man thinks he can just throw me away now that I'm dead— just like with Mom— then fine—" A short, brittle laugh. "Just  _fi_ _ne!_  I don't need him either!"

A pause. Fuuya curls his hands tight into the pockets of his jacket, head bowed a bit, eyes tracing every detail below - from the odd shapes in the concrete to the faded stains and creases on his shoes. The smile remains, everything quiet, wavering. "We never needed him. I never did. Mom and I..."

You raise a hand towards his shoulder, to be comforting, maybe - but stop, and pull back. You're not his partner or anything, sheesh.

"You better not regret a single thing from here on," you say, instead, sounding perhaps the exact opposite of nice or comforting with your concerned but mindful tone. The young man just shakes his head, chuckling as he raises it. His father and his newfound mistress have long since disappeared into the crowds. No words are said, but you think, this—just this—is probably just perfect as is for him. As far as it can get, which even then, is good enough.

 

 

 

 

"Do you think you can buy it?"

"I don't know." Kohaku eyes the dress behind the glass. An abundance of white frills, fake pearls, and a hefty price tag for the quality. On the adult model, it should look odd, but doesn't. "I mean, I have the money for it, and I really do like it. But these sort of things don't look good on me, and everyone says I'm too old for it—"

"How would you know?" You smile. You hope it feels as encouraging as you want it to be. "You haven't worn it. You haven't bought it."

They chew on their bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing. They burn the image of the dress into their heart, into their memory, the graceful silhouette kept in a distant fantasy, the ridiculous price noted as a deterrent and a rightful indicator of the truly qualified—and yet. And yet.

And yet.

"Consider it," you say.

 

 

 

 

"Is there a point?" Miwa murmurs, pressing the heels of both palms to her eyes, blocking the tears, choking the sobs. "Is there? I mean, Mom hates me, and Dad's— Why should I even go back—"

"What about your friend?"

Miwa breathes deep, shaky, makes red crescents with her nails. Still keeps her face hidden away all the while. "He'd... T-Takuya will be fine without me. He's always been—good at that. Better." She shakes her head, to disguise the involuntary sniffle. So close to pouring out - but she shoves it back in, all of it, quiet and unseen as usual, as always.

You place a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, your voice at a low volume - soft enough to be swallowed by the noise of the crowds passing by. "What about yesterday, then? What did you see?" 

She doesn't respond, just tries to hide deeper within herself. You resist the urge to sigh, and remain beside her in silence.

It's okay though. Everyone figures to stand up after a while. They think, so they can.

 

 

 

 

"Hey, do you really think..."

Kyousuke fits his hands into his hoodie pockets, watching the sky. Despite it being winter, today is a rather clear day - a few clouds here and there, hidden behind skyscrapers, coiling around the satellite antennas on older rooftops. "Do you think I can do it?"

"Why ask me that?" A playful gust of wind dances around your feet. You pat down the edge of your dress before it can flutter too much. "It isn't me who wants to play the piano. It's you."

The boy purses his lips at that for a moment. Bright blue reflects in his eyes. When he finally looks down, head brought down to earth from the clouds, a hesitant but thoughtful chuckle leaves him. He turns to you, a smile replacing the paralyzing doubt, but not the last-minute uncertainty. You don't worry about that too much though.

"Yeah." Then, louder - "Yeah!"

 

 

 

 

"Where's your partner?"

"Ah." Tokiyo makes a disdainful look. "Gorging his face in chicken nuggets, probably."

"Oh, right. Sunshine has an offer this week..."

"Honestly, I don't see the appeal." The bookish boy huffs, staring at the mindless script of the French novella in his hands. "It's cheap, yes. But what's the point of eating like a starving man now? When we're dead?"

"Well, why wouldn't you?" You keep your voice quizzical - light and hypothetical. No toting any firm opinions here. "We  _are_  dead, after all."

You receive an exasperated sigh - the kind that comes from listening to a rather stupid opinion. "It's precisely that. We're dead. What's the point of eating and eating when none of it sustains us? Of course, we may have a chance of coming back to life - but in that case, all the more reason for it to be pointless."

You tilt your head at him. "Aren't there things you like to just eat once in a while?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I—" You blink owlishly, something like a slow tetris piece falling into place. "I mean... Have you ever enjoyed your meals before?"

Tokiyo just blinks back at you for a response. For a moment, you close your eyes and think back a bit - see aged wines, expensive cheeses, posh parties. The overwhelming of feel lost and suffocated in a sea of boring politicians and old money. Where did Mother and Father go? To the unobserved corners of the room, paired not with each other but with strangers as intimate as lovers.

The boy is making a funny face now, still processing what you just said. You leave him be.

 

 

 

 

"I've never done graffiti before!" Yuma giggles behind their makeshift spray mask, drawing more squiggly lines on the concrete wall. "This is sooooo much more fun than I thought it'd be!"

"I'm glad," you say, in a half-nasally voice as you pinch your nose in hopes of not breathing in toxic fumes. Sure, you're like - dead and all, but you're also not dead in a sense and that means having the reflexive instinct to not do death-seeking, pain-suffering things. Either way, luckily and unluckily for everyone in the UG, there's no other death or end except erasure.

Yuma whistles a random tune as they spray-paint a giant flower, along with a crude meadow filled with tall grass and colorful dots of blooms and ladybugs. You can see their imagination going wild behind their eyes.

"—I think," they hum, determinedly, "When I come back to life, I'm gonna try out graffiti, for real. Something besides watercolors—something new."

"Better make sure not to get caught then."

They turn to you with a wide grin. "After all the running I've done in this Game? I think I'll be fine. Besides - I'm done with not taking risks in my life. Once I go back, I'm going to be a whole new me. A better me! One who doesn't worry about everything and everyone and just does what I love. And then, then, I'm going to get better at my art, and become a great artist, and then—!"

As they continue to ramble away at possible futures, planning out their dreams anew, you stop pinching your nose and watch them with a fond smile.

 

 

 

 

"What are you _doing?_ " Sheer disbelief keeps you from screeching your brains out. Above you, Mashiro gives a quick grin and a thumbs up before he continues climbing the light pole.

His partner, standing next to you, just groans something as they bury their face into their hands. Looks like this isn't a story with an easy explanation - though, considering how weird this is, that probably should have been obvious from the start?

You can feel a slight headache in the making. In the meantime, the boy continues to climb and climb, maneuvering around a few electrical lines and therefore missing (by the narrowest of grains) the opportunity to be a funny story about a Player who got erased for a stupid reason in a stupid way. You watch him reach the very top, settling there with the strangest ease of a crow - though, while the accomplishment brings a wide smile to his face, he looks and feels unreadable, unfathomable.

One hand reaches out into the air. A white bird lands on his wrist, unafraid and curious. Mashiro chuckles and strokes its feathers, murmuring a tale that no one can hear from below.

(Getting him down from there is another tale in itself.)

 

 

 

 

"Shibuya might be landlocked, but we're so close to the ocean!"

Natsuki stretches her arms back into the air, taking a deep breath of the dewy morning breeze. Against the rooftop railing, her partner continues to doze away, mumbling something about bears and chocolate.

Seated on the same railing, you swing your legs into plain air, enjoying the faint tugs of wind at your hair and clothes. Every time of the day has its charm, but morning can be one of the best - the world pulls open its curtains to a dreamy sun, shuffling into wakefulness. Natsuki keeps smiling, her eyes sweeping across bobbing heads and busy traffic, cataloging the dots of true green in this vast concrete jungle.

But, you take one good glance at her - and you can see her eyes settling elsewhere, looking much, much further. Reflecting a particular shade of tourmaline-blue, glittering unseen on the horizon.

The girl laughs, a small and soft thing, as her arms fall back to her side. The mission beeps its arrival in her pant pockets, phone vibrations stirring awake her partner as well.

"I can't wait to go swimming again." A smile to a grin - Natsuki bears her teeth at death itself. A proposal to win, no matter the odds, against the odds.

You just smile back at her, languidly.

 

 

 

 

"Do you like cats?"

A thoughtful hum. Kaori moves from scratching the cat's chin to behind its ear. "I think I do now."

You giggle, crouching down a bit to pat the cat's head. The stray tabby looks curiously between the two of you, one paw idly swiping upwards, neither catching or hitting anything. You notice Kaori smiling a little more at the cat's antics.

"Which do you like better then? Cats or dogs?"

You receive a laugh - it's not as dry or despondent as her laughs used to be, almost a week ago. "I don't know. I was always kept away from things, even animals - getting Father to let me go to an aquarium or even a zoo was like a war in itself! But sooner or later, I  _will_ be an adult... so that means, at some point, he can't control me any further. Or at all."

Another laugh, freer, happier. The tabby matches it with a random meow, tail sweeping the sidewalk next to the shop's entrance. The young lady hums in a way that can only be described as an odd sort of approval.

"I believe Mother has a pet with her." Kaori rises back to her feet, after a few more seconds of humoring the kitty. "It might be a bit rude to visit just to see the pet... but, nonetheless, a visit at all is long overdue from me. Perhaps not for Father - a divorce is a divorce - but, this isn't about him. Everything used to be, but not now. Not afterwards."

Hands on her hips, daintiness into her own kind of determination. "This is my life to live, and no one else's."

 

 

 

 

"Hey."

She doesn't look up. Your frown digs a bit deeper. " _Hey._ What are you doing here?"

No reply, but you do see her hands twitch - a second of nerves being pulled taut, fingers clenching. Trying to find useless, useless composure. You'd sympathize, but now isn't the time for that, really.

"Where's your partner, Shizuko?"

Her head snaps up. Hidden below the puzzlement, for a moment, you see uncertainty and anguish, mixed and muddled to the point of being indistinguishable, almost. Almost. But a moment is but that before she bows her head, unable to face you, the city, the sun, anything. You can't be too generous, so you remain, a faint shadow looming over her small, kneeling form.

"She's..." The brunette mutters, trying to sound numb, untouched by pain, but you can hear it - "Gone. Erased."

The crowds passing around you, through you, murmur their life stories over her sniffling. You don't contribute to the rest of the noise pollution - sometimes, people cover for the silence on their own.

Other times - most times - they just need a good listener.

"—I was so stupid." Shizuko begins, spills, a blistering confession to a statue or a stranger, whatever she needs, whichever is more comforting - "I was so— I'm so— why am I so  _useless?_ " Another sniffle. Another. Three, four— "I'm... It's right. They're all right. Really, I can't do anything. I just, I always relied on her, I rely on everyone! Can't— I can't do anything, huh? I really can't! I deserve this! I'm so useless, if, if I have to be like this, if I'm just  _deadweight_ then— then that's... it's right. This is right. I should just..."

The girl shakes her head. Suddenly trying to force away her weakness. After all, society in theory is welcoming, but in practice can be disparaging. Here, at least, you do sympathize with her.

"...Either way," she mumbles, trying too hard to keep her words coherent, level - "I'll be joining her soon. There's no hell after this, or a heaven either, but... maybe there is, or—" A stifled intake of breath. "I don't care... There's, just nothing..."

"Nothing... you can do?" You reaffirm, softly.

It takes a moment, but you get the slightest bob of her head. In the face of futility, it's just too tiring to try.

But.

You have to, you know?

Sometimes - it's just you. Only you, your own hands, your own awful thoughts. It's so dark, so lonely, but - there's only you, sometimes. So you can only make do. Small steps, one at a time - "What's two plus two?"

You don't get an immediate response. Just a long moment of the world revolving at its bright, uncaring pace. It lasts until Shizuko blinks at you.

"...Four?"

"Two times three?"

"S-Six?"

"And two plus two times three?"

"Twelve?" No hesitance. No uncertainty. Just confusion and the fraying threads of a fresh devastation. "Why are you asking me this?"

"And why are you responding?"

"Because—"

"Didn't you just say there's nothing you can do?" A plain tone. Factual. Not a hint of concern nor judgment. Your expression lightens a bit to match it. "And yet here you are, able to answer my questions."

The girl looks to the side. She raises a hand to rub at her tears, a very absentminded gesture, blinking as some continue to cling to her eyelashes like nuisances. Evidence, you think. More than enough effort put towards living, to doing, however small it seems.

Not a lot of people actually want to die. Even as her face scrunches for some strange defense, this one too - 

"That's not—"

"You can answer them." There isn't any time - no time to be kind, to be gentle - "You can think, and find solutions to your problems. Thinking is an action in itself, you know."

"But there's no point!" A faint, creeping sliver of frustration. "There's no point in just— just thinking a bunch of things! N-Not when you don't, don't do anything, or act on any of it!"

Your expression becomes even blanker. "Then act. Think of something to do, then do it."

"But there's nothing I can—!"

"I said _think._ " Internally, you wince a lot at your execution there. You didn't want to be  _harsh._  "Think about the situation. What's the problem?"

"The problem—" The irritated determination, light but present, deflates back to its nothingness. Her thoughts are depressing, but clear to see. "The problem... is that I lost her. I lost my own partner."

"That's the situation, not the problem. What's the problem _in_ this situation?"

Shizuko blinks at random shapes in the sidewalk. For a blind second, you wonder whether she decided to just give up, right there and then. "I'm... I'm going to be erased too? In ten minutes— no, even less than that now..."

"And how do you think you can fix that problem?"

"How?" A soft note - torn between painfully wry and painfully sad. "How could I fix this? It's not like I can just get another partner—"

"Have you tried to?" Behind your eyes, at the back of your head - a very old, distant time comes to mind. Although it happened all so fast, the memory plays out so slowly, so simply, like a muted movie in sepia. "Did you search for a new partner, Shizuko?" A vivid splash of orange and tinkling bronze, swallowed by grey and blue, jagged lines and static. A swirl of feelings, from shock to grief to panic. A boy made outraged and helpless. A man breaking the rules. You can't intervene. You can't intervene!

—But that was then, and this is now. The rules of the game have changed.

"I..." The girl's hands shake a bit. "I didn't. Because, I thought - it wouldn't matter, that, I can't..."

You breathe, mulling over the right words for a second. (To be frank, sometimes, there aren't any. Or the words, however right, don't work. You can't help everyone. Your help can't help everyone.) "Well... it's true. You might not find another partner, even if you search.

" _But,_ " you force the word out with as much firmness as you can, "You don't know that for sure. Not unless you try to search."

You stop there, and wait. Ten minutes are dwindling, wasting - less than that, even. Neither of you have all the time in the world, despite how much it might seem like the opposite. And the two of you know it.

She knows it. Her hands become clasped, a wish and a prayer to some god, to any divinity willing to hear her out. "...If I don't? What then?"

"Once these ten minutes are up, it's over. That's all." An enforced finality. "No one can help you at that point. You have to accept that you failed - or don't. But—"

That's the point, isn't it?

This is how things are, without a doubt,  _but_ \- what else could be? What else could occur?

So long as one hand reaches out towards that vague shape. So long as one tries every option before each avenue collapses. Hope is a possibility realized in determination. To hope in vain is watch the possibilities run without trying to do anything about them. That's why—

"...It's better than nothing." You look on with some surprise as she lifts her head, a sudden spark of focus to her eyes. "Better... that I tried my best, even if it doesn't work out?"

You just shrug and hold your hand out. This isn't a decision for you to make.

Seeing her choices, Shizuko shies away. But everyone is short on time and change in the afterlife, and though people might say that these sort of things need to be planned, need to be debated, it isn't a requirement for a decision in general. So the hesitance lasts for as long as the one, deep breath she takes - uncertain like any other person in the world, but she takes your hand, she still makes her choice, and you pull her back onto her feet.

You smile. "There probably isn't much time left."

A spike of adrenaline - she gives several rapid nods in understanding, heels already turning, a step taken forward. But then she pauses, looking back, "Wait, what about you? Who— How did you know my—?"

"Shizuko," you gently remind her. "Do you have the time for that?"

She blinks at you, unsure, before giving another mute nod and running ahead. You see her long hair fly through the air like a fleeting mirage, disappearing down the street and past the corner in mere seconds. Somewhere in this city, in this battlefield called Shibuya, a miracle might just happen, you muse. She might find someone. She might not find anyone. Her time might run out, her confidence might evaporate again. So many possibilities. You don't actually know what will happen from here on, not until Yggdrasil unfurls another branch with a new fruit to behold. This is why the afterlife works as it does - you have to make your bets.

All or nothing, now or never. A real game of chance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"This is such a nice cafe."

Narumi sips at the last of their coffee, humming against its lingering warmth. You keep your own hands warmed around the lukewarm porcelain of your own cup, thumbing the gold rim in a slow, absentminded way.

"Hey, Mister?" Their head turns to the barista on the other side of the counter. "Are you hiring any time soon?"

"Well, not right now." The man smiles, a sheepish hand on the back of their neck. "Don't get a lota business here, to be honest."

"Seriously? But you make really good coffee! And you have cats!"

"I'm glad to hear it." A real, good chuckle. The other hand on his hip. "Still, I got plenty of competition out there. Shibuya isn't the busiest place in Tokyo, but there's enough going on. As for the cats..."

The man shoots you a look. In response, you just lift your cup of tea and smile behind it. He shakes your head at your complicit silence with a bemused sigh.

"—the cats weren't my idea," he says. "It was just supposed to be a name, really."

"Oh." Narumi blinks a few times, staring down at the stained rings and splotches in their cup. Whatever ruminations they have, though, they don't tell - eventually, they just smile, big and reassured without prompt. "Still, cats or no cats, good coffee or no, I still like this place. So I'm definitely coming back."

They leave yen in spare change and pins next to their finished drink, waving goodbye as they get up and take brisk steps to the door. On polite habit, you wave back, listening to the distinct chime of an old-fashioned bell hitting the door frame on their way out. Soon enough, having disappeared from sight and from the living - in a minute or two, as a cloud floats past the sun like a moment of absolution, it truly becomes just the two of you here.

Though nothing really quite changes either - WildKat has a slightly different atmosphere, now.

"...You know," Sanae starts, arranging utensils into a drawer. "You're not really supposed to be doing this."

"Except, I'm not doing anything wrong. Not _really._ " You savor a bit more of your tea, despite it having grown cold over a long conversation. "You told me I'm not supposed to force them towards anything specific. And I don't - I leave it to them where it matters."

"It's still borderline illegal, Shiki."

One eye meets a pair of unflinching shades. "Pot calling the kettle black."

The angel sighs again, this time more weary and resigned. A concerned frown is on his face now. "I knew I shouldn't have let you withhold Shibuya's memory from the inquisitors."

"—Well, I needed a Producer back then," you say, defend, admit with an immediate, treacherous strain of helplessness, "And more than that, I needed someone I could trust. At least more than the others."

And it couldn't be Neku or Beat. It couldn't be the few people you actually did trust, purely and unconditionally. Because you couldn't commend them to any of this. The Game can be wondrous and beautiful sometimes - you really did come around to see that - but, that doesn't change the fact that the entire system runs on the dead and their dreams. This is not where you wanted to end up, and so, neither will it be a place anyone will be forced to stay, if they had a choice. Your friends ought to have the best lives that they can have. People ought to be able to fix their mistakes. Things ought to have the mere chance of changing, the sheer possibility of becoming  _better._

Nothing about you did, after all.

"—For all that you think," he offers, his tone too optimistic to be comforting, "I'm sure you would've managed fine without me."

"Maybe." You drain the rest of your tea. "But I doubt it."

Another sigh. The man knows, from predecessors and experience—particularly, from a certain blond boy, who once reigned here—that arguing against the willful and the almost-paranoid can be a complete losing scenario. So, noting your empty cup, Sanae just sets a half-filled teapot back on the counter as a response. Without another word as well, you slide it closer to pour, enjoying the warm wisps of chamomile and sunflower as steam drifts.

There's always next time.

 


End file.
